RUNNING ON SPITE AND FURY
❝ what do you say? wanna run away with me? ❞
Don't ask me how I got here. It's a bit of a blur. One minute I'm in the bathroom at Heyward's, in my Jeep the next – leaving the boys behind and driving worse than my brother as I speed up the main strip – and suddenly, I'm standing in the gravel just outside Tannyhill's gates, trying to talk some sense into myself. It's not working, in case you were wondering.
I don't remember the exact moment I decided to act on my apparent death wish, but once I've made up my mind on something, wise or not, there's usually no going back. This is no different.
It's not a graceful ascent, but I manage to climb over the shoulder-height wall surrounding the property and make my way up the long driveway. It's not until I've reached the front door that I realize I don't have the slightest clue what I intend on doing here. All I know is that my blood runs hot and I want Rafe to suffer for what he did to Pope.
I'll improvise. Not exactly my strong suit, but oh well.
In my rage, my knuckles meet the door with more strength than I knew I had, hard enough to echo through every corner in this mansion. It swings open much faster than I was expecting, and the face I'm met with makes my anger subside slightly.
"Mari!" The youngest Cameron throws herself into my chest and my arms instinctively wrap around her tiny frame, though my demeanor is far from warm and cuddly.
"Hey, Wheezie," I breathe wearily into her dark hair.
"You're back! Are you—" She pulls away, her face falling and her eyes wide with shock as she takes notice of the dark purples and blues painting the skin just below my eye. "The hell happened to your face?"
This child somehow manages to be more blunt than Rafe while still being a million times more tolerable. Incredible.
"Nothing." I shake my head dismissively with a forced smile. "I just had a little accident." I glance over her shoulder, finding just the empty foyer behind her. "Where's your brother?"
"Don't worry, you don't have to see him. He's hiding in his room. Came home with a whole attitude, but what's new?" She rolls her eyes, leaning her shoulder against the door frame. I wish I could be just as oblivious to the reason for Rafe's bad mood, but the lingering pain won't let me forget it. "Are you here for Sarah? Are you guys friends again?"
"Uh... no," I say with a light scoff. "Hey, look, Wheezie, I really need to talk to Rafe."
A frown etches its way onto the girl's face. "You guys aren't getting back together, are you? He's not very nice anymore, Mari." She glances back to make sure no one's listening, then whispers, "I think he's doing drugs. He's always all twitchy and fidgety, and he yells at me a lot. And it's like his brain doesn't work. He bought a motorcycle with Dad's generator money! Can you believe that?" I can believe that, actually.
I've always felt so bad for Wheezie. She's practically invisible in this house. Where Rafe is mistreated, she's just ignored, and I don't know which is worse. But she's made the most of her invisibility, turned it into her superpower. She's a fly on the wall. No one tells her a damn thing, but she sees everything. She's young and naive, but she's not stupid.
My eyes soften with a sigh, my brows pulling together slightly as I lie, "I'm sure it's nothing, Wheeze. But no, we're still broken up. There's just something I need to talk to him about."
"Okay..." she voices hesitantly, moving aside so I can enter the house.
"We'll catch up soon, okay? Maybe have a girls day."
Her face lights up as I walk past, a bright sparkle in her brown eyes. "Yeah. Okay."
Over my shoulder, I give the girl one last smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes, then head straight for the stairs, jogging up them with purpose. With each step closer to Rafe, my heart grows heavier and heavier as if it's pumping lead.
Making my way down the hall, I stop at the third door on the right. I pause for a moment, second-guessing whether or not this is a good idea as I listen to the shuffling and mumbling on the other side of the door. He's talking to himself, and not in the normal trying to gather your thoughts way – in the mentally unstable way. I've seen him do it before.
Rafe is not okay. He hasn't been for a long time, not since he started with the goddamn cocaine. For over a year now, every time I see him he's regressed a little bit further into a lesser version of himself – he's a little less in control, a lot more intoxicated, a little more angry, and a lot less sane. And what happened today only further goes to prove how far off the deep end he is, how unsafe I was when I was with him, how unsafe I am right now.
This is absolutely no where near a good idea, but I'm running on spite and fury right now. Fuck it.
I throw the door open and storm into Rafe's bedroom, slamming it shut behind me, and his pacing back and forth instantly stops at the loud sound. I halt in my tracks as well at the sight of him, my chest rising and falling unsteadily as I stare at his shirtless physique in front of me, still wearing his golf shorts.
A long, long moment of silence ensues. My split cheek pulsates with a burning heat as his eyes scan over my face, lingering on the damage he's done. The debilitating sadness in his gaze is almost enough to distract me, but I don't miss the hazy red splotches in the whites of his eyes. I don't miss the way his fingertips tap restlessly at his outer thighs or the way he gnaws on his lip.
He's high out of his fucking mind – his preferred coping mechanism.
"I'm sorry," he finally whispers, and my jaw clenches, my anger bubbling back up to the brim until it's ready to spill over. He rubs the top of his head with a flat palm, his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm so fucking sorry. I—"
Before he can finish, I march over to him, landing a violent slap across his face that echoes throughout the room, reverberating off the walls. A small gasp leaves my lips, and I stare at my trembling hand as if it acted without my permission.
This is it. I'm finally going to get my ass beat. He's high enough to do it and forget it ever happened. It's the perfect opportunity.
Rafe licks his lips with a thick gulp, turning his face forward again as he nods slowly. Pure terror is rushing through my veins right now, paralyzing me, maybe even killing me if this goes how I think it will. But to my surprise, he says, "I deserve that." He reaches out and takes my shaky hand in his, and for some odd reason, I let him.
"You're gonna kill yourself," I choke out as his thumb grazes my knuckles. Even after everything, I'm still unable to quell my concern for him. "How many lines did you do?"
"Too many," he says weakly, looking so damn broken. "I couldn't— What I did—" He stumbles over his words as he fights with his damaged mind, and my heart aches. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I wouldn't."
"Rafe, listen to me," I say almost as if I'm speaking to a child. I may as well be when he's like this. He's so fragile, one wrong word away from a meltdown. So I walk on eggshells, just like I always did months ago. "I don't care that you hurt me. You beat Pope with a golf club. You could've killed him. Do you understand that?"
His head shakes furiously and I know I've said the wrong thing. He raises his voice, "Your boy pointed a gun at us, Mari! What was I supposed to do? Just let that shit slide?"
I should probably quit while I'm ahead, tell him he's right and leave while I still can. But between his unwillingness to take responsibility for his actions and his utter disregard for any life, including his own, I can no longer hear the tiny voice in my head telling me to run over the sound of my blood rushing in my ears.
I'm afraid of Rafe. I have been for a long time, but that won't stop me from letting him hear my mouth. It never did. Maybe that's why we didn't work. His ideal woman is one who won't challenge him, someone who'll submit to even just the warning quirk of his brow. But that's not me.
I'm already here. He's already fucked up and I've already pissed him off. Why hold back now?
"That wasn't even Pope!" I shout at him, completely losing it as I rip my hand from his, my fist closing on the space his hand once was.
A slew of curses and unfriendly names spill from my lips as I shove him harshly by his shoulders, making him stumble backward a few steps. I hit him repeatedly, beating my fists against his broad shoulders and chest, letting out all of my pent up aggression. His muscles tense more and more beneath my fists with each audible blow, and that only eggs me on further.
I'm quickly realizing that this is about more than just retaliation for today's events. Yes, this is for Pope, but this is also for what Rafe allowed Topper to do to my brother, and this is for all the times he made me feel small.
"Mari," he warns lowly, holding his arms up between us to block the assault, but I don't stop. I continue hitting and shoving, the sting of unshed tears attacking my eyes.
This is for all the trouble he's given my friends. This is for every time he took his pain out on me with words as sharp as knives when the drugs didn't work. This is for all the marks his fingers left on my skin. Maybe I'll leave a few of my own.
"Cut it out," his voice is a guttural growl. I wince as he grabs my tender forearms in his large hands. They're already bruising from the impact of his golf club, and his harrowing grip is sure to worsen them. He quickly overpowers me, pushing me back until I crash into his bedroom door, my hands pinned beside my head. "You know better than to do this," he rasps, and something about his tone makes me shudder.
The energy in the room shifts, but the atmosphere remains just as thick as before. Though, it's no longer anger and resentment that lingers heavy in the air, it's need. A need the both of us share – a distraction from what he's done.
The cold stare of his steely blue irises raises goosebumps on my skin as we glare at one another, our chests heaving in unison. They'll only go away if he smooths them over with the warmth of his skin on mine. But no. This isn't part of the plan, not that I ever had one to begin with. I grunt pathetically as I try to break myself free from his hold, but my strength is nothing compared to his.
"Tell me what you want, baby." His eyes flicker down to my lips, his breath fanning my face.
My back arches slightly away from the door as I take in a staggered breath. "I want you to leave me the fuck alone." The words spill from my mouth like venom, and they taste bitter like it too – bitter like a lie.
Rafe smirks down at me, his lustful eyes making my knees go weak. "No, you don't."
He rams his lips onto mine, passionately claiming me the way he used to after every argument. The kiss is rough, the clashing of delicate skin and rigid teeth, and I hate the fact that it feels so good. My face contorts with disgust for myself as I kiss him back, my mouth moving fervently against his, our tongues fighting for dominance – something he's never let me have, and he's unlikely to start now.
His hands release my forearms, one of them roughly cupping my jaw, and I suck in a breath against his lips when his thumb gets too close to my tender cheek. His other hand reaches down to grip at my hip, pulling me tight against his body. My now free arms drape over Rafe's shoulders, my hands finding his dirty-blond hair. My fingers tangle in the strands at the nape of his neck, giving them a firm tug, and he groans lowly, his voice making my lips tingle.
He gives my ass a harsh squeeze as he presses his hips forward into mine and mumbles into the corner of my mouth, "Feel what you're doing to me, Mari?"
When I hum softly at the pressure of him against my front, his veiny hands slide down to the backs of my thick thighs. He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me across the room, tossing me down onto his unmade bed, my body bouncing when it meets the mattress.
He positions himself between my legs and just stares at me for a moment, taking me in. It's almost as if he can't believe we're right back here again, like he's second-guessing if this is real or if he's just that high. But then his warm hands settle on either side of my waist that's left exposed where my t-shirt rode up slightly, his fingers tucked under my back and his thumbs on my belly. His eyes find them there on my skin, and he must've decided that this is actually happening because he leans in for more.
It's almost comforting, in a twisted way. It just feels so familiar – him on top of me, his lips devouring mine like a starved man, his hands exploring the curvature of my figure, my entire body aching with desire. Or maybe it's aching with guilt. I can't tell the difference anymore.
Taking my bottom lip between his teeth, Rafe pulls away slightly before releasing it to spring back, and I gasp at the sensation. He begins leaving sloppy wet kisses along my jawline, trailing down to my neck, making sure to show extra attention to the sweet spot he knows I have just below my ear.
My nails trail roughly over his back, desperately clawing to bring him closer. When I said I would leave marks, this isn't quite what I meant, but he's driving me crazy, as if I'm not already insane enough to be here in the first place.
"Rafe, please," I whimper, bucking my hips up, desperate to feel him where I need him most, but he pushes me back down into the mattress and pulls away slightly, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.
He's toying with me. He wants to watch me squirm beneath him. Well, fuck that. I'm not his anymore. I don't give a shit about his pleasure or his wants. For the first time ever, this is going to be about what I want.
Catching him off guard, I flip us over, coming to straddle his lap. Rafe's eyes immediately darken with anger. He hates not being in control, but he seems to quickly forget that fact when his eyes roll back as I grind down onto the solid bulge in his shorts, my palms planted firmly on the sweaty skin of his abs to steady myself.
"Oh, fuck," he moans, pulling me down to press our lips together once more.
I continue to roll my hips down onto him, the friction relieving the throbbing between my legs as I whimper and whine into his mouth. His hands slip beneath my shirt, trailing up my sides until they reach my breasts, his long fingers massaging them over the fabric of my bikini top, causing me to sigh in satisfaction.
It all feels so disgustingly good, but then he ruins it, like he does with everything. It's got to be, like, a hobby or something.
"I know Maybank can't make you feel like this," he mumbles on my lips, and my skin crawls like it's trying to escape.
It's then that I realize that his hands aren't under my shirt, they're under JJ's. There's a reason I'm always in his clothes, under his arm, and on his lap. There's a reason I blush when his eyes meet mine and smile when he holds my hand. There's only one person I want to be touched by, and it's not Rafe. Not anymore.
My movements come to a halt. I pull away from him ever so slightly, and stare deep into his eyes. He looks so hungry, but I've just lost my appetite. "Fuck you, Rafe," I whisper just centimeters away from his parted lips, each word more sour than the last.
His hazy eyes narrow at me, and in one swift motion, his massive hands wrap painfully around my upper arms, pushing them behind myself. I'm no longer in control; I'm not even supporting my own body weight. I'm completely helpless on top of him, completely at his will.
"Is that what you want, huh? You wanna fuck me?" He spins my words tauntingly.
I swallow thickly and shake my head, fear making my eyes water. "I wanna leave," I squeak out helplessly, any confidence I had previously long gone. But he just stares at me, my face hovering above his, only able to move away if he allows it. And he doesn't. He smirks devilishly.
This isn't him, I tell myself. He's too gone. He's not thinking.
"Please. I-I wanna go."
I'm regretting every decision that brought me here, starting with letting him into my life to begin with, and ending with allowing his hands on my skin again. Now that they're there, I don't know if he'll ever take them off. I want them off.
Rafe sits us up, his strong hands still keeping me in place on his lap. His wild eyes flicker back and forth between my frightened ones, and I can see the moment something clicks in him. His reddened gaze softens and his mouth clamps shut, his adam's apple bobbing. His hold on me loosens, his hands sliding slowly off my arms, but I still don't move, too afraid to set him off.
"Go, baby," he says with a voice that somehow sounds more shaken than I feel, and I'm not about to argue with him.
I practically scramble off of him, stumbling when my feet find the floor again. I freeze for a moment there, in the middle of his room, a part of me not wanting to believe I'm off the hook just yet. But he makes no move to keep me from leaving, so I back away and walk out without another word.
Shutting the door behind me, I lean backwards into it, my head tossed back and my eyes squeezed shut with a broken sigh. Inflicting blue balls on someone sure is a creative way of getting revenge.
I take a moment to collect myself – steadying my erratic breathing, sorting through my frantic thoughts, my trembling hands trying to smooth over the frizz in my hair from the friction on the sheets. But then a low growl of frustration and a violent slam against the wood behind me causes me to jump, pushing off the door and rushing for the stairs. I don't make it more than a few steps away, though, before I freeze in my spot, my eyes locked on Sarah at the top of the steps in front of me.
The girl stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, her brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed into slits. She looks confused, but more than that, she looks pissed.
"It's not what it looks like," I rush the words out in a hushed tone, my arms extended in front of myself as I make my way towards her.
"Really?" She scoffs, her expression twisting into a scowl. "Because it looks like you're still screwing my brother."
"Okay, no, we didn't—" She hardly lets me get a word in.
"Oh, my God." Her jaw drops. "You never stopped seeing him, did you?"
"No, Sarah, I did. I swear. Just listen—"
"Shit, Mari, your face..." Her eyes widen as she notices the split on my cheek, the anger in them being swapped for something kinder. "Did Rafe do that to you?" She reaches a hand out, but I take a step back, turning away from her fingertips.
Sarah knows just as well as I do that her brother is unwell. When I said that none of my friends approved of my relationship with him, that included his own sister, back when we were still actually friends. She warned me, and that was long before the drugs.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" She asks an excellent question. If only I knew the answer.
I take in a shaky breath. "Look, I don't need you to pretend to give a shit about me..."
"Right." Her face hardens once again as she scoffs harshly, pushing past me towards her bedroom. "Good thing I don't."
I grab her wrist before she can get too far, spinning her around to face me again. "...but I need this to stay between us, okay?" I completely disregard my sense of pride as I stare at her with pleading eyes, but hers don't share the same softness as mine, so I beg, "Please, Sarah."
What I'm asking of her is a long shot – Sarah Cameron can't be trusted to keep her mouth shut about anything – but I have no choice but to hope for a miracle. If the boys catch wind of what really happened here, it'll be World War III.
Her jaw tightens and her nostrils flare slightly as she rips herself from my grasp and spits, "Your secret's safe with me." And with that, she disappears into her room, her door slamming ferociously behind her, leaving me alone in the hall, a simple door the only thing separating me from the sound of her brother's manic pacing.
I need to get the fuck out of this house.
❛ ━━･❪ ❀ ❫ ･━━ ❜
I've always been afraid of letting people down, of being a disappointment.
I once boo-hoo cried for over an hour because I tripped and fell into John B's Lego model of the Chateau, completely destroying his creation. Granted, I couldn't have been any older than six at the time, but I didn't cry because I was embarrassed that I fell or because it hurt when my knees landed on all the tiny, hard pieces. I cried because – even though it was far from a masterpiece, looking more like just a giant brown block than our house – he was proud of it, and I thought he would be upset with me for ruining it.
He wasn't, though. Being the protective older brother he always has been, he cared more about whether or not I was okay. I can only hope he'll be just as understanding with me now, but it's unlikely once he finds out where I've been. None of them will be.
I place my Jeep in park next to Heyward's truck in the yard, so I guess Pope and JJ found a way back after I ditched them. I'm sure they've already filled the others in, and I can only imagine how worried they've been. I got clocked across the face with a five iron, silently retreated into myself, and then disappeared into thin air. And while my friends were all probably stressing over my whereabouts, I was about to rip my clothes off for the man who just assaulted me and one of said friends over something he didn't even do.
Talk about being a disappointment.
Guilt twists my stomach up like a pretzel, and I gnaw at the inside of my cheek as I debate the idea of backing out onto the road and driving straight to the airport to catch the next flight out of the country. But I ultimately decide against it and cut the engine. I'm more afraid of traveling alone than I am of my brother's temper. He's mostly harmless.
My footsteps are slow as I approach the front door, subconsciously hoping to delay the impending conversation I wish I could avoid forever. I can hear John B's voice on the other side; the worry that makes his tone shake is like a blow to my chest. My eyes squeeze shut, and I do a little countdown in my head, giving myself time to find the courage to open the door.
Three...
Two...
One.
I don't dare to breathe as the door creaks. The tense chatter inside dies down immediately at the sound, and I can feel all eyes on me as I back into the door. It clicks shut softly behind me.
A small gasp from Kie draws my eyes up to find she, Pope, and John B gathered around the small dining table. She makes her way over, her gaze trained on my beaten face, her fingertips gently brushing my arm. Her voice is barely more than a whisper, "Pope told us what happened, but I didn't think..."
"I'm fine." I force a weak smile. "It doesn't hurt anymore."
My brother rises from his seat and closes the space between us, wordlessly taking me into his arms. My breathing becomes labored as I fight off the overwhelming urge to cry into his chest, and it only gets worse when he presses his lips to my forehead, letting out a heavy breath into my hair. When he pulls back, his face twitches, an inaudible wince as he takes in the cut on my cheekbone, the skin around it dark and discolored, though much less swollen than it was earlier.
"He's fucking dead."
All I can do is nod at his words. What am I supposed to say? 'Please don't kill him. He didn't mean to.' I don't think that would go over well.
"JJ and I were looking for you," Pope says, leaning forward with his palms on the tabletop. His brows are stitched together, his eyes soft with hurt, but I'm glad to see that the wound on his forehead is cleaned up. I'm sure I have Kie to thank for that.
With a gentle nod, I speak timidly, "I shouldn't have left you guys like that."
This is going a lot better than I thought it would. No one's asked the question I'm dreading the most. That is, until a low voice speaks from the living room.
"Where did you go?"
My heart rate spikes as I turn to find JJ leaning back against the arm of the couch, my blood being pumped so violently I can physically feel it coursing through my veins. His jaw is clenched, his eyes still that unusually dark shade of blue, and his hair a fluffy blond mess, as it often gets when he continuously runs his hands through it.
I don't answer. I need him to hold me before I drop this damn grenade and blow the entirety of The Cut to smithereens.
I approach him cautiously and snake my arms around his torso. He sighs as he hugs me back with one arm, his other hand holding my head against his chest. My ear is pressed right between his ribs, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, mine instinctively matching its pace. Old Spice is invading my senses, his scent providing me with a feeling of safety that I've lacked since the golf course earlier.
"Answer me, Mar." His low voice rumbles against me.
I back away from him, my body feeling cold despite the lack of airflow in this stuffy house now that his arms are no longer around me. "Tannyhill," I whisper, but I know they all heard it.
JJ's face somehow manages to drop even further, his shoulders slumping with what can only be disappointment – the very thing I was afraid of. "I fucking knew it," he mumbles under his breath. He knows me too well. I couldn't hide anything from him if I tried.
"You what?" John B's voice rips through the thick tension lingering in the stagnant air.
I turn to him, my fingers fiddling nervously amongst themselves. "I just wanted to talk to him." I don't need to give a name. Everyone knows who I refer to.
"Why the hell would you want to do that?" My brother shouts, taking one step closer, and I take two back.
"John B, chill," Kiara warns, not liking his rising temper.
"I-I don't know!" I cry out, tears brimming my eyes. "I was just so angry. I just wanted to give him a piece of my mind!"
"He didn't touch you again, did he?" I glance back at the sound of JJ's concerned voice.
"No," I lie through my teeth, knowing damn well he did a lot of touching. It makes me feel queasy. I've never lied to him before. "I yelled at him and I hit him and—"
"You hit him?" John B scoffs harshly, his voice booming. "Mari, are you fucking insane? You waltz up to your psycho ex's house and put your hands on him? Are you not understanding how dangerous he is? Look at yourself! Look at Pope!" I cower away at his harsh tone, jumping slightly when I crash backwards into JJ's broad chest.
The blond boy wraps an arm around the front of my waist and points a warning finger in my brother's face. "Alright, take it easy, man! Back off!"
John B instantly takes an unsteady step back, his body rigid and his eyes wide as he looks at my hands that grip tight to JJ's arm, realizing that he's the reason they tremble. "I'm sorry," he breathes out, running his hands down his face in frustration with himself. "Fuck. I'm sorry."
It's not even John B or his shouting that scared me. My mind betrayed me. When he raised his voice, I heard Rafe's. I heard the furious growl that ripped through his throat as he pulled the club back over his head. I saw the broken boy I had to beg to take his hands off my skin less than an hour ago. Then he said he was sorry and I realized who was in front of me, and I remembered that my brother would never do anything to harm me, no matter how loud he gets.
But that word sorry sounds so hollow to me now. He's misused it for months. He's sorry for acting so emotionally distant, but he won't tell me why. He's sorry for our lives falling apart, though it's not his fault. And now he's sorry for yelling at me as if I were his child. I'm tired of it.
"I just— I was so worried, Mar—"
"Can you guys give us a minute?" My voice is icy as I cut my brother's apologetic ramblings short, my hands now shaking with irritation rather than fear.
Our friends are hesitant, eyes locked on me like I asked them to do something scientifically impossible. They're scared for John B, not for me, just to be clear. I'm not exactly quick to anger, but no one is safe once I get there.
"Please," I grit out.
Pope and Kie share a nervous glance before heading for the porch door, and JJ's arm loosens around me as he pulls away and follows after them. He stops in the doorway, looking back at me with eyes that seem to ask if I'm sure I want to be left alone to argue in such an emotional state. I convey my certainty with a nod and he's gone, but not far. He steps out and plops down on the sofa right under the window, trying to play it off like he's not watching through the glass out the corner of his eye.
There's a silence between John B and I for a few moments before he sighs, "I didn't mean to scare you."
But his words don't even register in my mind. I'm already way past that. "You know, you have a lot of fucking nerve."
"What?"
"You wanna play the concerned brother card, but you've been shutting me out for months. Don't you think I'm concerned? But no, you don't give a shit about that."
"Dad said he wanted us to take care of each other, Mari." He still tries to avoid the topic of his emotions. "That's all I'm trying to do—"
"Dad?" I scoff incredulously. "You really wanna bring up Dad right now? You know what else Dad said? He told you not to feel guilty about that last fight you guys had. A fight I knew nothing about for nine fucking months!" John B looks away shamefully. I'm sure he hoped I'd forgotten about our father's words on that tape. "Do you think I'm stupid? You know something and that's why you've been so off. I've been giving you the chance to come clean on your own, but I'm done waiting." He opens his mouth with a breath, but I don't allow him the opportunity to speak. "And don't you dare give me that load of shit that you just can't explain it to me. You are going to explain! You don't get to be worried about me and then clamp up when I'm worried about you! And you sure as fucking shit don't get to talk to me like that!"
My brother swallows thickly with a slow nod as he pulls out a chair at the table and takes a seat with terrible posture. He leans over his knees, his hands shielding his face so he doesn't have to meet my eye as he breathes out weakly, "I didn't want you to hate me."
"Hate you for what?" I lean back against the arm of the couch, just as JJ did previously, my arms crossed on my chest to fight the urge to comfort him at how distraught he looks. My stomach turns. Maybe I was too harsh.
He finally looks up, his eyes darting around, not being able to hold my gaze for more than a second at a time. "You were helping Pope at Heyward's that day. Dad told me he was onto something big, and he needed to take the Twinkie for a few days. I was so selfish, Mar. I told him he was a shit father. He said he was done with all that, so when he brought it up again, I just... I snapped." His leg bounces rapidly as he recounts the events. "Anyway, it got really heated, and I left. Took the van and dipped. That was the last time I saw him."
"The day he disappeared," I whisper, my eyes trailing down to the ground as I put the pieces together.
I remember that day. When I got back from Heyward's, my father was gone. He was never much of a homebody, so I thought nothing of it. I just figured he went to wager a couple beers on a game of Spades with Guffy and would be back later. But he wasn't back later. Little did I know, that exactly two weeks from that day, I would be calling the sheriff's department to report him as a missing person. Little did I know, that morning would be the last time I ever saw him.
"It's my fault, Mar." John B's expression twists into one of pain. "If I gave him the Twinkie, he wouldn't have been on the water in the first place. I should've just let him take it. It's his fucking van, anyway!" He slams his fist down on the table, and my body tenses at the harsh sound it makes while the empty beer cans on top clatter into one another. His head hangs low, refusing to make eye contact with me. "I just didn't want you to blame me too."
"JB..." My heart drops into my stomach as I take a step forward, my back breaking contact with the couch. "It's not your fault."
God, I feel so bad for being pissed at him. No wonder he's been in such a state of denial. It's too hard for him to admit that our father's gone because he believes he's the one to blame for it. I can't believe he's been dealing with this on his own all this time.
"What if it is, though?" He gets up from his seat, raking a hand through his shaggy brown hair as he turns his back, unable to face me from the shame of what he thinks he's done.
"No." My head shakes vigorously, tears welling up in my eyes. In long strides, I make my way over and spin him back around, only to find his cheeks now completely soaked in his guilt. My arms instinctively cling around his waist, my body crashing into his chest. I hold him tightly as I assure him, "You heard Dad on that tape, John B. He knew something was coming. It had nothing to with you."
His chin rests itself amongst my curls, bobbing on the top of my head as he nods. His silent cries are broken up by a small sniffle. "You don't hate me?"
My eyes squeeze shut. "Never."
My brother's arms finally wrap themselves around me as well, his hold loose as if his body is weak. "I should've told you," he whispers into my hair. "I'm sorry." And for the first time in a long time, those two little words sound sincere as they leave his lips.
"Me too. I didn't mean to make you worry."
John B shakes his head as we break apart, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. "I think I was more mad at myself than you. My baby sister got hurt and I wasn't there to stop it."
Despite the warm and fuzzy feeling that grows in my chest, my eyes narrow at him. "Would you stop calling me that?" I shove his chest, causing him to stumble a few steps.
He laughs breathily as he finds his footing, drying his tears with the back of his hand. "So back to normal then, huh?"
"Yeah. All that mushy shit was getting cringy anyway." I shrug, a smile pulling on the corners of my mouth, but I keep it contained. "You're an ugly crier, by the way."
"Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Maria," my brother drones out as I turn for the hall, and I flash him the finger.
"Suck my dick, Johnny Boy." I let my smile loose once my back is to him, listening to his little huff of amusement.
I'm so grateful that our fights are always resolved quickly. A few harsh words and sarcastic affection, and it's like nothing was ever wrong to begin with. I can't imagine being the type of siblings that go weeks without speaking every time they're mad at each other. I'd lose my mind after one day without getting to bully him.
Slipping into the bathroom, I avoid looking at my hideous reflection and grab the first aid kit from below the sink. I'm beyond disappointed to find no alcohol pads inside. Rinsing my wound with tap water did not count as cleaning it, and now all I can think of is when Pope reminded me of the existence of gangrene. I don't want that shit on my face. It needs to be thoroughly disinfected.
A soft knock makes me look up at the mirror to find a certain blond-headed boy standing in the open doorway behind me, alcohol pads in hand. "Kie left them at the table when she patched Pope up," he says flatly.
"Oh." I give him an awkwardly slow nod. "Thanks." I turn and reach for the items in his hand, but he pulls them back, stepping past me and patting the countertop instructively.
A part of me wants to scowl. I'm not a pet to be commanded. But my body reacts to him without my mind's permission, my lips rolling together as I pull myself up to sit beside the first aid kit, and JJ comes to stand between my legs.
A hiss slips past my lips as I wince at the sting of the alcohol pad he swipes carefully over my cheek, my face scrunching up in mild discomfort. He continues to dab gently at it, and I can't help but rear back slightly at the pressure on the tender flesh, but he cups my jaw in his other hand, keeping me in place.
"Thought you said it doesn't hurt anymore?" JJ's words are clearly sarcastic, but his tone is void of any humor. It feels unnatural.
"It didn't until you touched it," I mumble.
My eyes flit around his face, taking notice of the two little lines that appear between his furrowed brows and how his tongue repeatedly glides over his lips – his focus face. When his eyes suddenly meet mine for a split second, I realize that they've finally returned to their normal shade of baby blue.
"You're staring again," he voices dully.
"This feels weird," I admit with a shy chuckle. "It's backwards. I'm always the one cleaning you up, telling you to sit still."
He gives me a short glare. "I don't really think there's anything to laugh about right now, Mari."
"Okay..." A small pout settles on my lips. I'm so used to everything being all shits and giggles between us, but he's clearly not in the mood for that. "Are you mad at me?"
"No, I'm mad that this happened to you," JJ sighs, tucking behind my ear a few stray curls that had gotten in his way. "I'm mad Rafe did this to you." Suddenly, his head rears back slightly, confusion riddling his features as his fingertips trail over the side of my neck that's now exposed with my hair pushed back. "What's that?"
I turn to look in the mirror behind me, and the blood drains from my face as my gaze lands on a small purple mark just below my ear. My hand comes up to touch the bruise, my mind replaying how Rafe's lips attacked my skin there. It felt good at the time, but thinking about it now only makes me shiver with disgust.
"I, uh... I-I don't know," I stammer, trying to figure out how to explain it away, trying to think up yet another lie that will make me want to vomit. "When I fell, maybe I—"
"You must've hit a rock or something," JJ finishes for me. "Like Pope."
I face him again, his eyes soft with pity for me, and I hope he can't see the guilt hiding in mine. "Yeah... maybe." I watch the tense muscles in his back flex through his shirt as he turns to toss the alcohol pad in the garbage. "You know, if it makes you feel any better, he didn't mean to hit me. I got in the way."
"That definitely doesn't make me feel better, Mar." He shakes his head, and my heartbeat quickens when his hands come to rest on the tops of my thighs, the silver rings that decorate his thick fingers cooling my skin, his hips positioned right between my knees. "But don't worry. I'm gonna take care of it."
My brows stitch together. "What does that mean?"
"You know exactly what it means."
And I do. Something was telling me that JJ wouldn't stop at sinking that boat, not with his history of vengeful habits, and not with the way his entire soul seemed to darken when he first saw my cheek.
"JJ, no," I protest, my hands on his chest. "Didn't Pope already take care of it? Sinking Topper's boat was your idea. You made him do that for nothing?"
"No, that was Topper getting what was coming to him for cracking Pope's fucking head open. That doesn't make up for what Rafe did to you. For this!" He motions to my wounded cheek and I slap his hand away in frustration. "Did you really think I was just gonna let him get away with it?" He looks down, leaning over my lap as he begins to laugh humorlessly, his voice low and deep. "No, he'll get his. Just wait—"
"J, please just leave it alone." With a gentle hand on his jaw, I pull him back up to face me. "It's done. He wanted revenge for you pulling a gun on them, and he got it. It's over. Can't it just stay that way?"
"Why are you always defending him?" JJ narrows his eyes at me.
"I'm not," I grind out, my hand falling away from his face.
"Well, you clearly don't want anything to happen to him."
"It's not that, JJ. It's just—"
"Oh, yeah, I forgot. You're still in love with him." His voice is thick with annoyance as he pushes off of my thighs and backs away from me with a scoff, "No wonder."
My eyes break from his shamefully, my gaze falling to my hands in my lap. "I'm not... in love with him," I say softly. "Not anymore."
"I just don't get it. How can you still feel anything for him at all? After everything he put you through? I mean, look at what he did to you, Mari. That-that's not love!"
"I know, but... he wasn't always like this." My eyes trail back up to his. "I spent two whole years with him, J. That doesn't just magically go away."
There's a long moment of dead silence where neither of us dares to look away, but then JJ sighs heavily, his eyes fluttering shut. "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair." He digs the heels of his hands into his temples with a soft grunt of frustration. "Look, Mari... it's just—" He cuts himself off with yet another sigh before continuing, "I... I care about you."
"I know," I respond mindlessly. I would sure hope that he cares about me after all these years.
"No," he says solemnly. "You don't."
A chill hits my body as realization washes over me, but I ask anyway, "What do you mean?" It feels like a stupid question after all the times he's made my heart leap in my chest the past few days, but I want to hear him say it.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he does. "I mean I care about you in ways I shouldn't, Mar." And once he starts, he can't seem to stop the words from rolling off his tongue. "Like, I fucking hate seeing anything less than a smile on your face. And I just wanna make you happy and keep you safe and do all the things I've always wanted to do and go to all the places I've always wanted to go, but only if you're with me. None of it would matter if you're not there..." he rambles on and it's all I can do not to grin like an idiot. His words cure my confusion over our tension, the almost kiss, and everything in between. "Shit, if I could, I'd take you far away from here, somewhere no one could ever hurt you again."
And at that, my composure gives way, a smile breaking out on my face. "Sounds like you wanna kidnap me," I joke with a snort, making the blond boy's cheeks grow rosy with embarrassment. I don't think he realized he said as much as he did.
"Well, I was hoping you'd come willingly," he chuckles softly, resuming his spot between my thighs.
"That depends on the destination," I shrug playfully. "Just so you know, I prefer tropical vacations. I've always wanted to go to Haiti."
JJ's eyes are as bright as ever now, a glint of excitement in them. "How does Yucatán sound? It's tropical."
"Not this again," I groan, throwing my head back, though my smile conveys anything but annoyance.
"Come on, Princess. They got lobsters this thick," he gestures widely with his hands, "no word for money. It would just be you, me, and the ocean. We could surf everyday, pick fresh mangos, have tacos for dinner."
I must admit, he makes a very convincing argument. "I do love me a good taco."
"I know you do." The blond boy smiles down at me. "We'll buy a little boathouse and you can sing to the fish like the Little Mermaid and shit."
My cheeks ache from the seemingly permanent smile he gives me as I giggle at his silly words. "That sounds perfect. But what do you get out of it?"
JJ paints on a pensive expression, fingers grasping for a beard he doesn't have. "Oh, uh, just an excuse to practice my Spanish... and you..." He pulls me closer by the backs of my knees until our bodies are pressed together, his hands resting on the counter on either side of me. "All to myself."
"Oh, yeah?" My hands glide up his chest to where his shoulders meet his neck, my eyes locked on his.
"Yeah." He sweeps a few curls away from my face. "So what do you say? Wanna run away with me?"
I know it's just hypothetical, but the truth is, I'd drop everything and disappear with JJ in a heartbeat. It would solve all of our problems. He would never have to see his shitty excuse of a father again and I wouldn't have to live in constant fear of my ex. We wouldn't have to wear the marks of our abusers anymore, just those special smiles we reserve only for each other. We could be so happy.
"When do we leave?"
His grin only deepens at my words. In this moment, it feels like something has just fallen into place, like the missing puzzle piece has just been found, and the world turns into a place nothing short of perfection. But when my teeth sink into my lower lip, the blond boy's face falls, and I worry that I've said something wrong, that I misread the situation and fucked it all up.
"God, Mari," he breathes with an unusual rasp, the calloused pad of his thumb pulling my lip free from my teeth. "You gotta stop doing that..." he trails off into something akin to a growl, "does things to me."
I'm almost relieved to realize that I haven't misread anything, but his husky tone is too much of a distraction to care. My breath catches in my throat, the steady rise and fall of my chest coming to a halt as I stare up at the boy in front of me through my lashes. "What kind of things?" I whisper.
His blue eyes leave my lips and find mine. They're dark again, but not in a scary way, in a way that makes my blood rush in anticipation. "I don't think you wanna find out."
Oh, but I do. "You'd be surprised, Maybank." My words seem to draw him in.
I want to tell JJ everything – how I wished it was his hands gripping my skin earlier, his lips marking my neck – but I can't. I can't risk ruining the way he's looking at me, disappointment yet again taking the place of adoration in his eyes. I can't risk the way his fingertips mingle with the curls that frame my face or the way he licks his lips every time his eyes flit down to mine.
We're so incredibly close again. Our breath mingles and my fingers bury themselves in his messy blond locks. It could take hours or milliseconds to close the nearly nonexistent gap between our lips, but it doesn't matter anymore. Time no longer exists.
Then, all of a sudden, footsteps in the hall set the clocks back in motion, causing us to jump apart. JJ removes himself from where he stands between my legs, and I push myself to sit farther back on the counter. John B appears in the open doorway to find the blond digging restlessly through the first aid kit beside me, while I anxiously tuck my hair behind my ears, looking down as I begin to fiddle with my hands in my lap, bummed that our moment's been ruined. Again.
My brother's eyes narrow slightly. "Uh... Mar, you still down for a surf?"
My head shoots up, excitement flowing through my veins. I nearly forgot about that. JJ makes for a pretty good distraction. "Fuck yes," I say. "I need a good surf."
"Alright, well, y'all hurry up. I wanna get out there while the sun's still out."
"Yeah." JJ clears his throat nervously. "Yeah, we'll be right out." He holds up a small bandaid with a tight-lipped smile, and John B glances suspiciously between the pair of us before slipping back into the hall with a short nod. As soon as my brother's gone, JJ leans his body over the counter, running his hand through his hair with a sigh of frustration.
In an attempt to ease the awkwardness John B left behind, I ask, "Ready to get your ass handed to you?" I haven't forgotten about the other morning when we challenged each other to see who's the better surfer. It was a friendly challenge on JJ's end, not so much on mine. I get a little carried away with competition.
JJ chuckles deeply as he recalls the conversation. "Yeah, sure. We'll see about that." He runs his tongue over his teeth. "But you're not going anywhere until we're finished here."
And at that, my lips part with an exhale, my heart doubling its pace. But much to my dismay, JJ doesn't make a move. Instead, the sound of paper tearing almost turns my mood sour as he rips open the bandage in his hands. How the fuck do men manage to be so painfully oblivious?
I grab his wrist just as he raises it to my wound. "I'm not wearing a bandaid on my face."
"Yes, you are," he insists, but my hand only tightens around him.
"No, I'm not."
"Jesus, you're so stubborn." He rubs between his brows, his eyes squeezed shut. "Why not?"
"Because it's ugly," I state haughtily, releasing him from my grip with a pointed look.
"No, that's what's ugly," JJ snorts, pointing at my wounded cheek.
I gasp dramatically as I smack his arm down. "Fuck you!"
"Okay, okay, I was just playing, I swear!" He laughs, his arms snaking around my waist as I try to shove him away from myself. But I give in to his touch when he presses his lips to my temple and says, "I still think you're beautiful, Princess."
As he begins to pull away, his hands lingering on my sides over the fabric of his t-shirt I'm still wearing, I look up at him through my lashes with a small pout. "Promise?"
He smiles down at me, the sight of his dimple making me lightheaded, or maybe it's just the blunt-force trauma. "Promise." But I decide his words alone aren't satisfactory. I hold out my pinky finger, my eyes locked on his as he rolls them with an amused shake of his head. "We haven't done pinky promises since we were kids."
"How else am I supposed to know you mean it?" I shrug.
He wets his lips. "Oh, I mean it." He links his massive pinky with mine, completely engulfing my small finger.
"While I've got you making blood oaths..." I start hesitantly, and he shoots me an apprehensive look. "Promise me you'll leave it alone. You know, the whole thing with Rafe." The blond boy scoffs harshly and tries to back away, but I don't let go of his pinky. This cycle of revenge needs to stop before it gets out of hand. "Please, JJ."
His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, his lips pressed into a thin line as he thinks long and hard about it. "Okay," he finally sighs, our fingers breaking apart. He's never been very good at saying 'no' to me. "But he's got two strikes. If he hurts you one more fucking time— If he even looks at you the wrong way, I swear to God, Mari—"
"You'll beat his ass. Yeah, got it, J," I say dryly with a slow nod.
"No." There's not even an ounce of humor in his tone as his hardened gaze holds mine. "I'll fucking kill him."
Welp, Pope called it.
Despite JJ's stern demeanor, I don't take him seriously. He's not actually capable of hurting anyone past throwing a few solid punches, so I joke with a light chuckle, "I'm revoking your gun privileges."
A small smile tugs on his lips. "Can I put the damn bandaid on you now?"
"Fine," I groan, shaking my curls back away from my face.
His hands take their time placing the waterproof bandage over my cut and gently smoothing it down to stick against my cheek. It may not be the hottest look, but at least now the salt won't sting when we get out on the water.
JJ's bright eyes find my dark ones, his fingertips still hovering over my skin. "We should probably get out there," he nearly whispers, a smirk playing on his lips. "They're gonna think we're fucking in here or something."
"Well, we can't have that, now can we?" I ask, biting my lip. I'd like to say that it's merely a habitual action, but it was one hundred percent done on purpose. Now that I know how it affects him, I can't help but torment him a little. Call it payback for all the times he's made my mind burn with filthy thoughts.
It's so quiet I almost miss it, but he lets go of a low grunt. Looks like my torture tactics are working. "I guess not," he huffs out.
❛ ━━･❪ ❀ ❫ ･━━ ❜
The soft glow of moonlight illuminates the darkness and the damp summer air feels sticky against my skin, but that's instantly remedied by a cool breeze, reminiscent of the winds that whipped against me as I surfed my problems away.
JJ didn't end up getting his ass handed to him. It's time I accept the fact that he's the superior surfer. I gave him a run for his money, though, so I'll take solace in that.
Even though I didn't walk away victorious, I can't find it in me to be a sore loser like I usually am. A content smile still finds my lips as I think back on our time on the water. I recall it fondly like a distant memory, like something that happened years ago rather than a couple hours ago. But all good memories feel that way. Even seconds after the moment's over, it feels like a lifetime away, and another lifetime until you'll live it again.
After surfing until our bodies ached, the five of us sat on our boards, swaying with the waves and watching the sun set over the horizon. The ocean was reflecting pink and orange back up at the sky and lapping at my thighs, the breeze sending an exhilarating chill up my spine.
It was beautiful, peaceful. Enough to make me forget every horror that made my day a living hell. Enough to distract me from the guilt of my choices eating me up inside.
Too enthralled as the colors painting the clouds reached their brightest point, I didn't even notice that all three boys had vanished from their surfboards beside me until Kie and I were yanked forcefully into the water, squealing as we fell. Of course, a water-fight broke out, saltwater being thrashed through the air in all directions, our youthful shouts echoing off the waves. And that was a different type of peace – the kind that comes from the joy of being with the people you love most.
We stayed like that – splashing, screaming, and hugging – until the sun was about to make her final exit.
That same peace lingers even now as I lay in one of the hammocks strung up under the big oak in the Chateau's backyard. I stare up at the stars through the branches above, the curve of my neck rested on the bicep of the blond boy beside me while he twirls the ends of my curls between his fingers, my calves brushing Kiara's across from us. John B and Pope share the other hammock, and for once, all is quiet, aside from the chirping of crickets.
It's almost perfect, until I feel a minuscule pinch on my arm. I smack the tiny bloodsucker with my opposite hand, my face scrunching up in both annoyance and disgust as I wipe it onto the canvas of the hammock. "Little bitch," I mumble under my breath.
Kie lets out a breathy giggle. "Skeeter?"
"Paradise on Earth, my ass," I retort with a scowl, now becoming hyperaware of the buzzing of mosquitos all around us. "These things are everywhere." Everyone seems to find amusement in my discomfort as I swat away the pesky little creatures. Eventually, I give up with a huff of frustration, accepting the fact that I'm destined to wake up in the morning covered in itchy bites.
A tranquil silence washes over the five of us once again for a moment before Pope's voice slips out into the night, "You really think it's out there? Like, no bullshit?"
I look over at his silhouette, my fingers fidgeting with a small twig I felt digging into my back. "Our father thought it was."
"But do you guys?" He reiterates his question.
This time, my brother responds, "After hearing his voice on that tape... I think I do."
"Only one way to find out," Pope hums. I watch as the two boys share the Pogue handshake, their hands nothing more than a shadow in the darkness.
"Look, we're gonna find it, you know?" Kie chimes in with a cheesy grin that I can hear, but not see. "Even JJ believes."
"Oh, my God, JJ, do you really believe?" John B teases the boy at my side.
"Totally," JJ responds like he's on autopilot before seemingly tuning back into the world around him. "Wait are we talking about four mil?"
"Four hundred mil," Kiara, Pope, and I drone out simultaneously, correcting his error. How could he forget those two life-altering zeros?
"Jinx," Kie and I spit out at the same time, the both of us breaking out into a fit of giggles.
I glance to the boy that's holding me, a grin still plastered on my face. "Have you not been paying attention, Blondie?"
I can just barely make out the smile JJ wears as he shifts to get more comfortable, his arm tightening around me. "I'm gonna dream about shipwrecks," he sighs, then calls out to my brother in a goofy tone, "Goodnight, Bird!"
"Goodnight, bird shit!" John B jabs back, not missing a beat, causing JJ to flash him a shadowy middle finger. I toss the twig I've been fiddling with at my brother, and he jumps slightly when it hits his chest, having no idea where it came from in the abyss of the night.
Contentment makes me whole as I think about how close the two boys are. Some would call them the best of friends, but I know that's downplaying it. They're brothers – have been ever since John B first brought JJ home after school that one Friday afternoon.
It would destroy me if anything were to come between them, if I were to come between them. And that's exactly what will happen if I give into my feelings for my brother and I's shared best friend. His confession from earlier hasn't left my mind. He cares for me in ways he shouldn't, as he put it, and the feeling is mutual, but now that fact suddenly makes me feel dirty, like a traitor.
The way I see it, I have two options. I can either put an irreparable rift between the two most important men in my life on the mere chance that JJ and I might actually have something real, or I can fight against the temptation of his smile, his words, and those devastatingly blue eyes, protecting their relationship in the process.
I've made enough mistakes today alone to last me an entire lifetime, and I refuse to make another. My smile falls, though nobody will notice in the darkness, and my chest aches. Just when I've finally realized that my best friend is everything I want, I remember the millions of reasons why he's everything I can never have.
Sucks to be me.
I turn onto my side with a weak sigh, nuzzling my head into JJ's chest, my fingertips toying with the shark tooth he wears around his neck while his trace small patterns on my arm. I let myself savor it while the dim lighting offers us cover, hiding us from my brother's watchful eye, because I've made my decision.
Come tomorrow, there'll be no more metaphors of running away together, no more lips getting so close you can feel the static between them, no more anything other than friends.
author's note:
thank you, thank you, thank you so so much for 14k reads on this story! i honestly can't believe anyone actually gives a fuck about anything i write lmao
i know i'm killing y'all with all these almost kisses and interrupted moments, but i warned you it was a slow burn and i meant it haha
however, i promise that jari's time is coming so very soon!!
but i'm not promising that everything will be all sunshine and happiness and puppies raining from the sky. i love me some mf drama wayyy too much for that. 😉